Framing Innocence
by AliaofTwoWorlds
Summary: "We'll figure it out, just like we always do." In the wake of Sacrifice, Team Free Will regroups to deal with everything they've learned and lost. Dean must face the fact that family doesn't just mean protecting the ones you love, but opening up to them as well. Will contain Destiel, though it is not the main focus of the story. Other warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

So, as you've seen if you've read my profile, I am alive, and I've been getting into new fandoms. This is my first Supernatural story, and I have a Doctor Who one also lined up and ready to write. Hopefully I'll be updating this often. There are going to be some noticable differences between this and my other stories, though, if you've read my others.

This is going to contain romance, for one. It's not meant to be the main focus of the story, but there will be a fair amount of it. This is set right at the end of the season 8 finale. I decided to write from Dean's point of view and to actually include Destiel because in season 8, Dean finally started really opening up, showing a lot more of his feelings. Particularly in the season finale, in the conversation between him and Sam, he showed how much he cares about Sam, and I think he really feels similarly about Castiel, but never really got a chance to say it with everything that was happening. So yes, There will be Destiel. If you absolutely cannot stand the thought of them together, fine, don't read this. But I am going to be making a tremendous effort to actually write the characters correctly. No sudden perfect sappy out-of-character romance. I'm trying to focus more on capturing specific characters' personalities in my writing, so please, if you feel I'm writing one of them slightly off (or completely wrong, whatever), do review, and tell me so.

As mentioned, of course, this will involve some romantic scenes, nothing explicit, but there may be references to things that some people consider explicit. There will also be a fair amount of swearing, because if you hadn't noticed, they do that a lot. If you can't stand that either, then go ahead and don't read it, but I'm not going to rate it M.

Anyway, enjoy. Sorry that the first chapter is so short, there were a few places I could have ended it but this fit the best for the end of a chapter.

* * *

When the angels started falling, it was almost enough to make Dean forget everything else that was happening.

Understanding came immediately as he watched the streaks of light coming down, hand still on his brother's shoulder and face turned toward the heavens.

"No, Cas…" he murmured, as he realized that Naomi hadn't been lying—Metatron must have succeeded in banishing the angels from Heaven. That explained why his calls weren't being answered; the thought was accompanied by a sudden thrill of fear, both for Castiel's fate and their own without the help of the angel.

He watched with an open mouth the downward progress of the closest angel to them, streaking toward Earth like a comet, leaving a blazing trail in its wake. It smashed into the water near the chapel with immense force, causing the ground to quake around them. Sam jolted at the impact and Dean's hand fell from his shoulder.

"What's happening?" Sam forced out as Dean turned his head back toward the hundreds of other angels falling around them.

The entire thing was so overwhelming that it was a miracle that Dean managed to answer at all. "Angels," he said, barely registering his own voice as he continued to stare up at the sky. "They're falling."

The momentary trance was broken, however, when Sam gave another strangled gasp of pain, his body curling in on itself. Dean's gaze jerked back to his brother, and all thought of the angels plummeting to Earth around them was forgotten as he placed his hands back on Sam's shoulders.

"Sammy?" The hands on the younger hunter's shoulders were more to ground Dean than to offer comfort to Sam—Dean wasn't even sure that Sam knew where he was anymore.

"All right, I've gotta get you up, Sam," Dean said as he reached up with one hand and pulled open the passenger door of the Impala above them. He shifted, moving his hands below Sam's arms and hauling his upper body into the car.

Whereas a few minutes ago, Sam had been gasping for air, alternately clutching as his arms, ribs, and head, he was now silent, tightly shut eyes and tense muscles showing he hadn't slipped into unconsciousness, but unresponsive to either Dean's voice or the change in positions. He barely seemed to be breathing, and it freaked Dean out more than the gasping pain he'd been in before.

Dean shifted Sam so he was lying further across the bench seat and carefully folded his brother's legs into the space in front of the passenger side. Standing back, he ran a hand quickly through his hair in frustration as he glanced back at the chapel—he knew he couldn't leave Crowley in there, but it went against every instinct he possessed to leave Sam alone, even for a minute. Finally, with a growl of protective frustration and impatience, he shut the Impala's door and raced back into the building.

Crowley craned his neck back as Dean approached. "What's happening out there?" He asked. His voice sounded weak, higher pitched and less rough than usual, and it suddenly struck Dean how _close _they had been to actually "curing" the King of Hell. As he unhooked the chain binding Crowley's neck to the floor, he wondered if the effects of what Sam had already done would last, whether Crowley would remain mostly human or would revert back to being a demonic son of a bitch—and in the latter case, how long it would take.

"Dean, that you?" Crowley questioned again as the older hunter circled around to the front of the chair, unwinding the chain and then grasping him by the arms and yanking him upright.

"Come on," Dean growled, steering the stumbling demon out the front door and back to the Impala. Crowley looked up at the sky as they exited the chapel, still full of falling angels, and stuttered something, but Dean paid no attention as he hovered by the front of the car. He weighed his options carefully, wondering what the chances were of Crowley flinging his chained arms over the seat and strangling Dean while he drove, and briefly considered stuffing the demon into the trunk, but decided that he wanted Crowley in his line of sight and manhandled him into the back seat.

"Sit still and shut up," he said shortly before slamming the back door. He climbed into the driver's seat and looked down at Sam, who lay exactly where Dean had left him, face drawn even tighter into lines of pain. His breath came in short, slow, stuttering pants, rasping each time it was dragged in and out. "Hang in there, little brother," Dean said quietly as he pulled Sam's head into his lap and took off for home.


	2. Chapter 2

Argh, so I had just updated my profile saying that I'm alive and all that, then I go and disappear for two weeks. So sorry for the wait! I actually do plan to write more often now, particularly now that I'm getting more toward the parts of the story where stuff actually happens and all that. This chapter in particular was a bit difficult to make myself write because not a lot actually happens (sorry in advance for that). But starting in the next one (actually toward the end of the next one), actual stuff will happen, I promise! I couldn't just skip this chapter, though. No. I don't do that. I won't be one of those people who just does the "okay then it's suddenly two weeks later because I didn't feel like writing about the time in between even though up until now my story has been set at one pace and now I'm going to throw the entire thing off." No. So anyway, enjoy, and I promise not to make you wait as long for the next chapter!

* * *

It wasn't far to the Men of Letters Bunker, and Dean made the drive in half the time it should have taken, but it still felt like an eternity. Dean could feel Sam shuddering in his lap, and hear the shallow, rasping breaths he was taking. Dean tended to talk when he was nervous, and he rambled consistently as they drove, but Sam didn't acknowledge anything he said, didn't even reach up to flap at Dean with overlarge hands, trying to get him to shut up.

When they reached the bunker, Dean once again had to shove aside his instinctual desire not to leave Sam alone. In this case, there was no option: he couldn't get Sam inside on his own, at least not easily and certainly not without causing his brother undue agony—he would need Kevin's help for that. To get Kevin, he would need to go inside the bunker, and there was no way in Hell he was going to leave Crowley in the car with Sam.

The demon had been surprisingly cooperative on the ride back, making small noises occasionally when Dean rounded a corner too fast, tires squealing, and threw the chained form in the backseat into the door. Other than that he had been silent, and Dean was as grateful as he could be to the King of Hell.

Dean was also aware that Sam hadn't finished the ritual, that Crowley wasn't human, and that he could at any time revert back to being the demonic son of a bitch he was. Despite his worry for his brother, and the urgent need to get Sam back in the bunker and take care of him immediately, Dean was not stupid: he knew certain precautions needed to be taken.

No matter when he would turn demon again, for now, Crowley was mostly human, and that meant his senses were about at a human level too. Luckily, as Dean hadn't bothered to cover his eyes before leaving the chapel, the demon had been lying down at an awkward angle in the backseat for most of the ride, and hadn't been able to see out the windows. Dean wanted to keep as much information from Crowley as possible about the location of the bunker.

Yanking open the back door of the Impala, Dean saw that Crowley was struggling to sit up, half-propped on chained elbows and starting to raise his head. One of Sam's bags was on the floor in the back, and Dean quickly grabbed an old shirt to tie across Crowley's eyes.

Crowley groaned slightly in annoyance as Dean reached forward to do so. "Really, Squirrel? Is that necessary?"

"Shut up," countered Dean, aware that Crowley had reverted to nicknames and fearing that Sam's purified blood was already wearing off, turning him more demonic by the minute.

After double-checking the shirt, making sure Crowley couldn't see a thing, he hauled the demon out of the car and to his feet. Dean pulled him along and down the steps to the door of the bunker. Crowley stumbled on the steps but Dean's mercilessly tight grip on his upper arm kept him from falling.

Dean unlocked the door with one hand and shoved the chained demon inside, closing the door behind him but not locking it as usual—he didn't plan to be gone long and locking the door seemed to put an unwanted barrier between himself and Sam. Turning back, he was met with a blaring alarm, and looking down, he noted that the dormant machines in the main room were all blinking, whirring, and beeping, pointlessly alerting him to the fact that all Hell—or Heaven—was breaking loose outside.

Without pausing to do anything about them, Dean steered Crowley down the steps, around corners, through hallways, and down to the recently discovered Room 7B. As he opened the door to the dungeon, he heard new sounds in the room above, a distant voice, and figured Kevin was up there looking for him. He considered shouting back but realized there was no need to inform Crowley that he knew where Kevin was hiding, and finished re-chaining the demon into one of the sets of shackles along the wall, not bothering to take off the blindfold, before retreating and slamming the door behind him.

Climbing back up to the main level, Dean found Kevin emerging from the hallway leading to their bedrooms with a shotgun, held in slightly shaking hands. Kevin lowered it slightly when he saw Dean, and Dean recognized it as one of the guns he had mounted on the wall of his room.

Dean snorted, moving forward and shoving the barrel of the gun toward the floor. "What were you gonna do, huh? There's no ammo in that thing." He took it from Kevin's limp grasp and tossed it to the floor beside them.

"I-I don't know, it- it might have scared…" Kevin stammered, looking down at the gun on the floor and then back up at Dean. "Everything started going off in here, all these alarms and lights and—" Kevin's eyes darted around nervously and his voice started to rise. "What the hell is happening out there?"

"Hey!" Dean barked into the young man's face, and Kevin flinched, quieting and looking up at the hunter, who grabbed his arm and started back toward the stairs to the balcony and the entrance. "I'll explain in a minute, but I need your help with Sam. Come on."

Kevin hurried after him up the stairs. "What's wrong with Sam?" He asked, but Dean ignored him, reaching the door and pulling it open.

Kevin followed him through and made to shut the door, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Leave it open," he said grimly, and started back toward the car, just as the ground shook again with the impact of another fallen angel.

Kevin gasped and started violently, his head snapping toward the sky. He stopped in his tracks, staring. "What the hell is that?" He asked quietly.

Dean stomped back to him and grabbed his arm once again, pulling him toward the Impala. "Angels. Now _come on_."

"_Angels?_" Kevin asked incredulously, but he still followed Dean to the car at last, gasping again when he saw Sam lying across the front seat. "What happened?"

Dean ignored him again, pulling open the passenger door and leaning inside to pull Sam upright. As he shifted his brother against his chest, Kevin started again, suddenly peering into the backseat and around the car. "What… What happened to Crowley? You guys got the tablets, right? You were going to trick him? Where is he? What happened? Where—"

"He's inside!" Dean snapped, stopping the incessant questions. He started pulling Sam toward the edge of the seat, gesturing to Kevin to help him, but Kevin's eyes were widening and he took a step back as though Dean had just proclaimed himself a demon.

"_Inside?_" Kevin's voice rose a few octaves as he looked wildly back at the open door of the bunker. "He's _in there?_"

"Yes, chained to the wall and blindfolded in the dungeon!" Dean yelled, losing patience, as his sick brother lay limply against his side. He forced his voice lower, imploring, and Kevin finally looked back at him, clearly terrified. "He's not going anywhere, Kev, he's still weak from the ritual. Trust me. Please, I need your help here."

Kevin shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself briefly, but finally moved back to Dean. "Yeah, okay. Sorry."

Dean gave a tired, strained sort of smile. "It's fine, man, I know it's all—just help me get Sam inside, let me take care of him, and we can talk later, okay?"

Kevin nodded and moved forward again; Dean shifted, pulling Sam's upper body out of the car, holding him below the arms. "Get his legs," he said shortly, and Kevin's hands scooped under Sam's knees as they were pulled free of the Impala.

Dean closed the car door with his foot, and they started moving back toward the open door of the bunker, Sam a long, awkward weight between them. They had to set him down for a moment inside so that Kevin could bolt the door shut behind them, and when they moved to pick him up again, Dean noticed Sam stirring slightly. He held up a hand as Kevin reached down for Sam's feet again, staring intently at his brother's face, but other than a very soft moan and a slight tightening of his features, Sam remained still and unconscious.

Sighing, Dean once again slipped his hands under Sam's back, Kevin following up with his legs. As they hoisted him up again, Dean felt the muscles in Sam's shoulders tighten, but he still didn't respond, and they began moving backward toward the stairs.

Getting Sam down the curving stairs was the hardest part of the journey, but they managed it eventually, and after that, it wasn't too long a trek to the younger hunter's bedroom. Dean hadn't been in Sam's room more than a few times, but he noticed that his younger brother hadn't added any real personal touches to it; hadn't put anything on the walls, didn't even have a photo like Dean… but then, what would he have a photo of? There were very few pictures of Sam and Dean together, and most of those of their family had burnt down with their house in Lawrence. John hadn't exactly been the picture-taking type after Mary died. And Sam wasn't even in most of the ones from when they were all together. The thought suddenly made Dean's stomach twist.

They laid Sam down as gently as possible on his bed. Dean's eyes remained locked on his brother's face, and he distantly heard Kevin leaving the room to get the first aid kit. Dean was focused entirely on Sam, lost in memories of their less-than-happy childhood and suddenly drowning in the realization that while Dean liked to look back on the happy memories, always looking to the future and hoping it could be like them, Sam had nothing to draw on. His brother's entire life had been one misery after another, and he didn't have any happy memories, at least not any real, solid, permanent ones, to think about in the worst of times.

A memory came back to him, of a time, quite a while ago, that he should have realized all this. _I never got the crusts cut off my PB&J. I just don't look at family the way you do. _Dean felt sick. He should have seen, then, that Sam was right: to Sam, "family" just meant an obligation that would someday cost his life; it meant obeying the orders of his distant father and hearing the tales of the mother he never knew. Sam's words in the chapel came back to him. _You want to know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? Was how many times I let you down. I can't do that again. _Sam had grown up and lived his entire life patterned on Dean, trying his hardest to do what he thought Dean wanted, striving to create the future that Dean saw, with no idea for himself of what happiness looked like. And he blamed himself for the fact that things went wrong, that Dean was still clinging onto old memories and wishing for his mother back.

Before the burning behind his eyes could develop into full-fledged tears, Dean leaned down and pressed his forehead against Sam's barely-moving chest, gripping Sam's shirt so tightly that he could feel his nails digging into his palms even through the material.

"Sammy," he whispered, and his voice broke in a near-sob, "Jesus…"

* * *

Okay, so this kind of near-breakdown isn't really meant to be an out-of-character thing. Everyone has their small moments where they just can't deal with stuff. But with Sam sick and hurt and all that, I figure Dean would be feeling a bit strained, not to mention the angels falling and Crowley in the basement and the fact that his brother essentially wanted to commit suicide earlier that night. I also needed to start the whole premise of Dean showing his emotions a little more, and bring up a reason for him to be actually _talking _to Sam later. I promise, there's not going to be any Dean-sobbing-to-Sam-about-their-childhood scenes. That would just be totally wrong. Oh, and yeah haha I know it's a slightly awkward ending, I just couldn't think of anything more that Dean would actually say in his one little weak moment. It's not like he would go on a big emotional speech or anything, and saying "I'm sorry" wouldn't really fit, for multiple reasons, which I don't need to waste your time by making you read here.

Also, I'm sorry for the general lack of actual plot in this chapter. I couldn't just skip the entire part where Dean brings Sam back, chains up Crowley, etc., and get to the better parts. The next couple of chapters are going to be somewhat slower-paced as well, though the Destiel shall come in somewhat soon. After that, things will actually start to happen, as I test out my powers of prediction on what the trials may or may not have done to Sam, what the hell is going to happen to all the fallen angels, what they'll do about Crowley and the demons, etc. So do keep reading!

One last sidenote: Word does not recognize the word Impala. I am not sure whether to laugh or cry.


End file.
